


Late But Not Too Late

by verybadhedgehog



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Death, Falling In Love, Force Ghosts, Haunting, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadhedgehog/pseuds/verybadhedgehog
Summary: Kylo dies in battle and comes back as a force ghost.  Hux cannot see him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The odd numbered sections are Kylo's point of view. The even numbered sections are Hux's point of view.
> 
> The prompt was: _Kylo dies in battle and comes back as a force ghost. Hux cannot see him. Kylo spends his days watching Hux slowly fall in love with him as he combs through the artifacts in his quarters and pieces together his past. Hux holds the helmet one lonely evening and whispers to himself, “I wish I’d known you better.”_

1\. On Being Dead After A Lifetime Of Being Alive

 

The thing that had struck him most, after the quick draining away of physical pain, was how she’d looked. Dissatisfied, even as she struck the killing blow and made her victory final. His blood had soaked into the mud, and the mud had soaked into his robes, and his mouth and eyelids had sagged in final irrevocable surrender. No part of his body his to command, any longer. Still she had stared, seeming frustrated, almost thwarted. He had reached out for more detail, but all he could pick up from her, and from the Force in general, was, “this was supposed to happen, but not here and not now and not exactly like this.”

The Force did not always get what it wanted, not to the last detail. People kept stepping in its way.

The battle had not been what Kylo had planned, either. But with two new Jedi present, in what could be considered to be an ambush (he had not had the chance to discover why the intel was flawed, and who and where the traitors were) he had seen no option but to throw himself to the very front.

He had been welcomed into the oneness of the Force. There were souls who knew him, and they had new lessons to teach him. Any new lesson was, as it had always been, both a chance to be brilliant, and a chance to be a disappointment. But now, at last, _at last_ , he had the help and assistance he had craved for such a long time. He would learn to make, of the spirit, a body. He would learn to bring himself together, to concentrate his presence in the Force and let himself be where he wished.

The Jedi girl had been right, seemingly. He was here too soon. He had things he wanted to do. Things left unsaid. Loose ends. Regrets. He had first to find his mother and speak to her; and then he knew he had to return to his old places. Something was left undone. Something on board that distant Star Destroyer. 

 

* * *

 

2\. The General’s Condolences

 

Hux had sent a note of condolence to the Knights of Ren, short and formal. He would never have much time for the mystical side of power and rule, but politeness, diplomacy and basic humanity dictated.

Somewhat unexpectedly, the Knights sent back Kylo’s battered helmet, with a note indicating that it should rest in Kylo’s chambers with the remainder of his possessions, and that they would make arrangements to come and visit within the next few weeks. Then they would gather up what needed to be gathered and transfer what needed to be transferred, to the Knight who would be the new Master of the Noble and Ancient Order of Ren. 

That was how these mystic orders did things, Hux supposed. A respectful pause before the transfer of power. Try getting away with _that_ in military or political life. 

 

* * *

 

3. A Visitor In His Own Home

 

Kylo stood, not corporeal but nevertheless fully present, in his old chambers. Everything was as he had left it. The few significant objects he’d collected, in place, on their shelves. A precious antique volume of the written lore of the Knights of Ren: inaccurate in many places, but which he had annotated and corrected in a way that would not reveal to outsiders anything of the hidden, arcane lore. A holocron, bearing more of the same lore. Another holocron of the Jedi, and one of the Sith – both to be either followed or disregarded at will. Rarely at his own will, sadly. 

And there were the mortal remains of those who had come before, those who had stood against, those who had been in the way of the great preparation: a preparation for something that now might never happen. Would the new Master of the Knights be given the burden? Would Snoke’s great plan be brushed aside by the power of the Force, like so much dust?

Those who had come before and who had been removed from the way. He was as mingled with them in spirit as if his own remains had been poured into the great tray and stirred up.

And, in its special place, the holy relic of the man he knew now at last. He, like his grandfather, had let go of the bounds of life and given himself up to the Force; and had been welcomed, unexpectedly, by something far better than pride or honour. He had thought he knew little of love and trusted less of it, but to be part of the Force along with the ones who had gone before was to be loved. Loved, guided, shown the way. He knew it for what it was, now.

The ship, the place where he stood now, was not a home. It had only been something like a home, and only for a scant handful of years. Yet it was where he felt he needed to be, now, to retrace the steps he had put down over the _Finalizer_ ’s kilometres of corridors. There was something here he needed to do. He would find it, somehow.

He went towards the bridge, to attempt his former pastime of annoying General Hux. Nobody, neither officer nor Stormtrooper, reacted to him. Nobody was sufficiently attuned to the force to see him, in his body made of spirit, that he had taken such time and care and skill to bring together. Typical of these people, whose training did more to squash any latent sensitivity out of them than to encourage it. The General, he supposed, would not be able to see him. Fortunate for the General, who would be allowed to carry out his duties in peace, and perhaps fortunate for Kylo, who would have the novel chance to observe his colleague without being observed himself.

On the bridge, Hux was busy, as always. Nobody affected a constant state of being busy to the point of tightly pressed as did General Hux. It was his shield. Behind that shield, as he watched him through the remainder of his command shift, Kylo noted something slightly flat and dull about Hux. Some of his usual sharpness and zest was absent.

Kylo followed him from the bridge, enjoying the ability to observe far more closely than he had ever been able to before.

 _“Something’s bothering you.”_  

Hux did not hear him any more than he saw him. 

He walked with Hux to his quarters, listening as they went to the sound of the General’s footsteps and the the tense exhalations of his breath. Once in his rooms, Hux hung up his greatcoat, pulled off his gloves, and sat at his private desk, flicking absently through what appeared to be trooper training data. He was clearly not at ease with himself: some way off his normal course and bearing.

_“You seem distracted, General. Something is bothering you.”_

Hux stood up, abruptly, and went to look at a large view screen showing the view from the port side sensor rack. Stars, distant and bright. Blurs and smudges of nebulae. It held his attention for a few moments. Then he turned and left, with Kylo at his heels.

He did not go far: his fingers quickly entered the unlock code on the door of Kylo’s quarters. He set the lights to seventy percent, brighter than Kylo had ever had them.

_“What are we doing here? Is there something you need, in here?”_

Hux glanced around the room, went to Kylo’s desk, and rested his hand on the back of the chair. 

_“Don’t say you’re missing me.”_

Hux sat at the desk; and placed his hands, gently, flat on the surface.

“I don’t entirely know why I’m here. Curiosity, I suppose.”

He was nowhere near as cold and stiff and buttoned up as he had been before. This was who he was, then, when nobody was watching. Nothing approaching laid back, of course, but softer. Kylo found he liked it.

Hux looked around, taking things in, trying to see the room as Kylo would have seen it, perhaps. A futile endeavour, but how interesting that he was trying. 

The desk had a few compartments and niches, and Kylo waited for Hux to start poking about and prying and looking. How he would have detested even the thought of this when he was alive. 

But instead, Hux stood again and went to the shelf on which was displayed the small collection of Ren’s most precious things. He turned the Jedi holocron in his hands, fascinated by its decoration, tracing his fingers over filigree metal on the front panel and polished wood marquetry on the back. He succeeded in puzzling open the first layer of concealment, but would get no further without use of the Force. Disappointed, he closed the device’s panels and replaced it. He turned next to the book, taking it back to Ren’s desk for further inspection.

Kylo watched in patient fascination as Hux flicked through the book of lore. He had expected him to find it dull, but he seemed interested in some parts. Kylo realised that he was paying more attention to the handwritten annotations than the core text. Not that they would be any more penetrable to him, and indeed after a short time he closed the book.

He looked at a second antique paper volume, this one of ancient poetry. 

_“Don’t read that. You won’t enjoy it. Not your sort of thing.”_

Other than a few rote-learned verses in primary school, few Imperial or First Order officers had much contact with the form, and Kylo did not expect Hux to engage with it in any way. Hux read some short works, furrowed his brow and shook his head. 

_“Do you know the middle Corellian dialect? You might like the selection of poems about war and love – some were set to music, you might know some of the music from ’The Musician’s Wife’. She’s dead in that, if you want relevance.”_

He would have preferred Hux to look at ‘The insidious enemy circles the fortress of my heart’, but the fact that it used war metaphor throughout did not mean that Hux would necessarily like it. Especially given that it ultimately seemed to celebrate defeat. Hux would have to see himself as the tyrant conqueror. As always.

While Kylo was remembering songs of war and love, Hux had moved on, and was picking over a collection of data chips

“Dooku and the Separatists – A One Man Revolution”

“The 47th Galactic Endurance Racing Championship Season Retrospective: featuring the 24 Hours of Mon Cala”

“Reappraisals of the Mandalorian Wars”

He seemed fascinated, smiling to himself at the historical titles and their juxtaposition with a sporting retrospective.

Kylo tilted his head and smiled weakly. _“Did you really know so little about me?”_

  

* * *

 

4\. The General Is Intrigued 

 

Hux was fascinated. This man who had been so opaque was coming into focus now, letting details be seen. And he had likes and dislikes. Cultural interests. He was well read. Hux had assumed that Kylo Ren only read religious texts, but it wasn’t so. He had a scholarly interest in history – they could have enjoyed discussions together, if Hux had known that the topic was there to be raised. And if Ren had been open to such discussions.

Hux had been brought up to see sports piloting as a frivolous waste of talent, but he could imagine himself allowing Ren to bore him with stories and statistics. Perhaps he ought to look up some data on the 47th whatever racing championship it was.

He wondered if the Supreme Leader had known of Kylo’s cultural interests. The idea of Kylo keeping secrets from the Supreme Leader suddenly thrilled him, then filled him with its own painful note of regret. He might have been the sort of man who kept that sort of secret. His own man. Not as much of a servant (everyone knew what “apprentice” really meant) as Hux might have thought.

He stopped himself. He seemed awfully sure all of a sudden that Kylo really had been keeping these books and texts secret, when there was no firm evidence. Why would he be so sure?

On more consideration, he thought he ought really to delve further into Ren’s past. He had access to a few classified documents about the true fate of Leia Organa’s son after the Jedi temple massacre, but they told him a tale he already knew.

He would need to look through more of these data cards to find the hidden stories.

Perhaps he would have a close read of the classified intelligence material on Organa herself, and that would help him piece together something about the man he found himself wishing to get to know. There could be nothing suspicious about wanting to know as much as possible about one’s enemy.

And there he was, thinking of hiding his true intentions from the bureaucratic machine with which he normally felt so at ease. And by extension, from the Supreme Leader himself. Why had that thought so thrilled him?

 

* * *

 

5\. The One-Way Glass Of Being Dead

 

Hux was reading intelligence files. He would appear to be involved in a deep dive into the family and connections of his opposite number, General Leia Organa.

Kylo leant over him.

 _“She wasn’t a bad mother,”_ he said. _“Only sometimes. She loved her son.”_

Hux read on.

 _“The son she loved wasn’t always me. You won’t understand that. She loved her good son. I wasn’t always the good son.”_ Kylo kept speaking, the fact of being unheard making it easier, now. _“You either fall off the radar, or you’re just too much. Too. Much. I don't expect you were ever too much. You're a ’not enough’. Any fool can see that.”_ He stopped and reconsidered. _“Sorry. That was unkind.”_ He no longer wanted to be unkind.

Hux stopped reading and sat back to furrow his brow and think. He sat forward again and read the short document covering Leia Organa’s political activities in the years after the fall of the Empire.

_“She was busy. But people are busy. You are busy.”_

He felt Hux think, as if he were taking Kylo’s words in somehow. Or as if he were independently mulling over the same ideas.

 _“You want to know. You do, don't you?”_ He did. And Kylo wanted to tell him _._ Stories about mistrust and grudges and deep unforgiven lies, and more stories about love and brief happiness and regret and still not belonging. _“Read that again, then read my documents. In the drawer in my desk. I want to explain to you, but you can’t hear me. I want to put it into your mind, but I don’t know that I can. Not yet, anyway. Please, read and think.”_

Hux read a little more, and thought a little more.

_“It wasn’t a question of time. Look at the documents. And the book of lore. Try to understand. You’re not stupid.”_

The next day, after his duty shift, Hux was in Kylo Ren’s rooms again. Kylo found him there, looking through the storage compartment of Ren’s desk, as bold as anything, picking past the documents he’d already read, and onto a collection of holochips in a little plastic case.

He picked a holochip and clicked it into the projector. Blue light flickered up, and he watched the hologram with calm, firm interest.

It showed Vader, disembarking from a shuttle, imposing and majestic. Hux had certainly seen footage like this before, from the great days of the Empire. The First Order military all knew what they were fighting to restore. 

The holo cut to different scenes, of Vader using his lightsaber to repel blaster fire, and Hux smiled and nodded. It was a training montage, with blaster fire provided by droids. Hux seemed moderately impressed. Perhaps he had seen holo footage of Kylo training this way, with battle droids. Perhaps he thought it run-of-the-mill.

_“Watch the next one, Hux, watch the next one.”_

Hux cued up and watched the next hologram. This was different. “That’s the ship,” he said to himself. “Solo’s ship. The Millennium Falcon. And that’s Han Solo.” Kylo expected Hux to reel off a litany of Han Solo’s crimes. Enemy of the Empire. Ne’er-do-well. Scoundrel and rogue. Thief and fraudster. Undesirable element. But he did not. He simply watched, fascinated.

A boy, dark haired, ran into the picture, and Solo embraced him and ruffled his hair.

“That’s you,” Hux said, quietly.

_“That’s me.”_

Hux shook his head. “Bloody hell, Kylo, I wish I’d had a father like yours. ”

_“He was… it was complicated. He made a lot of mistakes. But mine were worse. In the end.”_

“I expect he didn’t understand you very well. With your abilities and all of that.” Hux stopped and thought, narrowing his mouth in reflection. “I suppose I didn’t understand you very well either.”

Another hologram. The boy, watching food cooking in an oven. A cut to the dish resting on a countertop. The hologram was monochrome, but it was apparent that the food was burnt at the edges. Solo’s voice, warm, friendly: “it’s not up to Uncle Chewie’s standards but I guess we tried,” and then “Mommy will be home soon – shall we get ready? Do you want to tell her we made dinner?” and then the boy at the front door, waiting and then running towards a woman in a blue suit with hair piled in braids on top of her head, Alderaan style.

Hux paused the holoprojection and looked for a long time at Leia Organa greeting her young son.

_“It was overcooked to hell. I knew it was but Dad said it needed another fifteen minutes because the recipe said so. I know you can’t hear me, I just wanted to tell the story. To someone. It’s been such a long time.”_

He watched Hux, and Hux stared at the hologram.

_“You didn’t have a mother. Not like that. I’m sorry.”_

Hux sighed. “I should hate you for having all this, but I don’t. I can’t, somehow.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything.”

 _“She might have been a better suited mother for you than she was for me.”_ He wished he could explain more, now that it finally turned out that someone wanted to know. _“We talk now. Just a little. She can see me. I wish you could. I want to talk to you. About everything."_

 

* * *

 

 Again, Kylo drifted his way through his former home, seeking out the only man on board to whom he wished to make an appearance. He found him where he expected to find him, in Kylo’s own old rooms, paying his quiet, curious mourning homage. He held Kylo’s old helmet in his hands, and his physical demeanour and his presence in the Force showed him to be in deep thought.

Hux raised the helmet and looked at it, as though he were looking into Kylo’s own eyes. He had never given Kylo such a soft or thoughtful regard in life.

“I wish I’d known you better,” Hux said. “I really wish I’d known you better. You kept so much hidden.”

_“So did you.”_

Kylo rested a whisper of a hand on Hux’s back.

Hux stroked his fingers across the silver detailing on the mask.

“I could have liked you. No. I _have_ come to like you.” He smiled at the face that was not there. “I like you, Kylo Ren. And whats-his-name Organa – if we’re still not allowed to say it out loud.” 

Kylo warmed. Even in his incorporeal being, he warmed, and if he had been in the presence of one who was able to see him, that person would have noticed his glow increase for a second.

_“Thank you, Armitage Hux. I like you, too.”_

Hux smiled: an incongruous, startling, flash of brightness on his face. Something was getting through to him.

The General had, on his right cheek, one mole, like a beauty spot. Kylo had often noticed it, and now he reached over and touched it with two translucent fingers. The living were said to find the touch of the dead chilling, but it seemed this was myth. Hux did not flinch or shiver, but only blinked. Emboldened, Kylo leant in and kissed the beauty spot, soft and gentle and quick, and felt ripples in the Force between them.

 _“I'd have let you kiss all of mine,”_ he said, letting the stupidest things flow free, now.

Hux put the helmet down on Kylo’s desk chair, and patted it fondly. He paced around the room, his thoughts still not quite penetrable to Kylo’s mind. His trajectory took him into Kylo’s bed chamber. What could he want there, in a room that shared the stark, utilitarian design layout of every tier 5 officer’s quarters on the ship. 

Hux stood in front of Kylo’s closet and flicked his hand over the clothes. There were training outfits arranged in wire mesh drawers. Two spare sets of armour pleat. A winter weight surcoat and a summer one. He took a handful of the winter weight surcoat, and Kylo saw his breath hitch.

“This one suited you the best. I know you always looked more or less the same. But I rather think I like this one best.”

He touched a cowl, hung on a hook. It was the old tattered one that Ren used to wear, before the Leader had granted him a replacement. He unhooked it, and stared down at it for a minute. Then he clutched it to his chest and slid gracefully to the floor.

Kylo felt Hux's sadness wash at him like a strong ocean wave.

With one hand, Hux held a wing of the surcoat over his shoulder and with the other he clutched the cowl. He bent his head to the fabric and breathed in.

Now Kylo was jolted, knocked back by the sudden force of Hux's pain.

“Oh, Ren. This was you.” Hux’s voice cracked, and his proud, lovely face crumpled. He clenched his eyes tight shut and bit his lip, hard; using all his effort to hold back the wave that was trying to sweep him away, too.

Kylo sat down beside him, just to accompany him in his sadness and to, if he could, find some way to soothe him, some way to get through to him.

_“I'm here. I'm right here.”_

He leant against Hux, though Hux could not feel it, and put an arm around him, with equal futility.

_“Can you tell that I’m here? Do you feel anything? Shh. It’s alright.”_

“I miss you. Come back and let me talk to you. Come back.”

_“I’m right here. Say whatever you like.”_

He had always, for some values of _always_ , wanted to make other people hurt. Because someone damn well ought to be hurting. Someone ought to see how much wrongness there really was in the world. Someone ought to see how much power there was that could be used to put things the way they should be. Wanting so much to _avoid_ someone hurting, to stop them hurting, seemed new.

Hux stood and held onto the cowl. He looked over at Ren’s bed.

_“Lie down, then. You have time before you’re needed anywhere.”_

He stepped towards it, stared sadly at it, and began to remove his jacket. Of course he would still think of creases in his uniform. He hung the jacket up in Kylo’s closet next to Kylo’s own clothes. “I hope you don’t mind,” he whispered, and then he toed off his boots, and clambered on to the bed. He organised the pillows to rest his head on one and hug another against his front, with his hand still holding on to the old cowl. 

Kylo tucked an arm over him, and held him, his embrace partly tangible from his own side, but intangible from the other. 

“Ren,” Hux murmured, holding the pillow and the hood, and allowing himself to fade towards sleep.

Kylo stayed with him and observed him, in wonder. He felt his pattern in the Force as he slept, and tried to think how he might be able to climb into Hux’s dreams and at least be seen. Perhaps Hux was dreaming of him anyway. He needed to be able to focus more, to be nowhere and to be here, to concentrate, to find the details. He wouldn’t be able to force it out, or coerce it out, for fear of disturbing his sleeping General. So peaceful, so sad, and so loved.

Hux stirred in his sleep. Kylo worried it was something he had done. He gathered Hux’s lean body and all the life within it, closer towards him. _“I would have loved you,”_ he said _. “So much.”_

Hux clutched the pillow closer to him, and breathed, contentedly, the scent of the cowl. 

_“I love you now. It’s too late, I know, but it’s still now. It’s always now, and it’s always here.”_

He nosed at the back of Hux’s neck, and Hux did not shiver: rather, he seemed warm and comfortable as he drifted back into sleep.

But you were never cold, when you had someone who loved you.

 

* * *

 

6\. Another Message Of Condolence

He had to find the securest channels, or this communique would surely damn him.

Failure to write and send it, however, would torment him more than he could bear.

 

_General Organa,_

_I write, in a purely personal capacity, to express my deepest and most heartfelt condolences on the loss of your son. As I am sure you know, your son and I worked closely together for a short number of years. I confess that while he was alive, I did not hold him in any great personal regard – it is no secret that we did not get on well –  yet once he left us, I felt compelled to attempt to make his posthumous acquaintance._

_So, I find myself, now it is too late, with a great fondness for him, and wishing desperately that I had come to know him while he was alive – wishing I could have forged a friendship with him. He was a complex and fascinating person, and I never saw him that way, to my great shame and regret. It is only in discovering the man he was that I have found myself nurturing feelings I would have long considered impossible._

_I miss him terribly. And he never knew. I never knew._

_I hesitate to say, but given that you share his magic, perhaps you will understand – at times I think I feel his presence, and it warms and comforts me._

_If, by some operation of the Force that is hidden from me, a rational and unbelieving man, you should be able to communicate with him (I feel as if I must be going mad even to consider it as a possibility), please let him know that I have grown so very very fond of him and I wish more than anything that we could have our time over again._

_If, however, you do not, then it is my duty to tell you – he kept a few secret souvenirs of his family life, and I believe he still loved you, and his late father, far more than he permitted anyone to know. (That act hurt him dreadfully, of that I am sure.)_

_I hope that, in time, some cessation of hostilities will allow us to meet and share a moment of mourning together._

_Yours, in sympathy and bewilderment,_

_Gen. Armitage Hux_

 

He had typed and deleted a mawkish paragraph pondering his own fate after death and confessing a futile fancy that he might be welcomed in a warm and strong embrace when his time came. He had already said more than enough.

It was time to arrange a meeting with a trusted secret agent, to convey the little data chip to its destination. He opened a secure comm channel, and punched in the number of Bazine Netal’s private comm.


End file.
